


When You're Broken on the Ground (You Will Be Found)

by trashmouthtrash



Series: You Will Be Found, Jughead Jones. [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Bullying, Hurt Jughead Jones, Hurt/Comfort, Jughead whump, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks, Well depends what you call minor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 20:22:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12140385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashmouthtrash/pseuds/trashmouthtrash
Summary: Jughead goes missing. Reggie takes bullying a step too far. Archie is worried. Betty is worried. Everyone is worried.Except Jughead, of course. He's just in a lot of pain.On Sunday night, a sarcastic teen fell silent and still in a locker.I couldn't write a summary if my life depended on it.Title from You Will Be Found from Dear Evan HansenI own nothing but the plot.I'm an amateur, so be nice, but please review!





	When You're Broken on the Ground (You Will Be Found)

Jughead opened his locker with a sigh, sifting through his textbooks with mild disinterest. He was tired and ready for the weekend. That day - scratch that, that whole week - had seemed to drag on like no other. Even worse, he had forgotten his lunch money that day. The raven haired boy was desperate to get to Archie's house and chill. His stressed, sleep-deprived mind scrambled to remember which books he needed for the weekend until he finally gave up and grabbed everything.

Jughead turned, stuffing the last of his books into his bag, and found himself face to face with one of Riverdale High's douches: Reggie Mantle. Jughead tried to contain his groan, he really did, but he couldn't help the audible show of irritation.

"'Sup, dork? Going back to the cave?" Jughead rolled his eyes - the insults weren't even close to intelligent. Jughead may be sarcastic, but at least his IQ was above that of a kindergartener.

And he told Reggie just that.

So it was with little protest that he took the punch to his nose - god, he really had to start thinking about what he said - and he took it like a man. Normally, Reggie would overload him with more childish "insults" and perhaps a few more hits, then leave him alone. And Jughead took it, knowing he probably deserved it anyway. But this time was different. Reggie kept punching him, and suddenly Jughead was on the ground, Reggie kicking his face and stomach and everywhere and it HURT. Suddenly, there was an audible crack, and for a moment, time froze.

Jughead was fairly certain your shin wasn't supposed to split midway at a ninety degree angle. Reggie was pretty sure bones were supposed to stay on the inside of your body.

Jughead clutched his leg, moaning in pain and desperately trying to withhold from tears. "Reggie... stop, please." It pained him to beg, especially to Reggie, but damn, that hurt. Reggie just stared at him for a minute, and Jughead thought he might have seen a bit of remorse cross his features. It was quickly replaced by one of pure panic.

"Oh my god, if someone sees this, if they find out, they're gonna be so mad..." he muttered, almost incoherent in his fear. Jughead was shocked by this rare show of vulnerability. He shifted, trying to take advantage of his captor's plight, and tried to scoot as far from Reggie as possible. The fire in his leg burned almost as much as the pure rage shining in Reggie's eyes. He lunged after Jughead, grabbing him by the collar, and stuffed him into his locker before Jughead could let out a plea. He struggled, the threat of being stuck in there fueling him with a godly sense of adrenaline with which he fought desperately. For all Jughead's fear fueled him, however, it seemed Reggie's rage was stronger. Not to mention Reggie's advantage in the muscle department. 

Jughead thrashed as Reggie slammed the locker shut, locking it with an ominous clang. "Please, Reggie, let me out, I can't, please!" His screams turned to breathy gasps as Reggie's footsteps retreated. Jughead was hyperventilating. It was dark and too small and his leg hurt so bad and his phone was in his bag and oh, god it was Friday, and no one would be there until Monday, and it was dark and too smalltoosmalltoosmalltoosmall-

XXX

On Friday, a beanie-clad teen passed out in a too-small locker.

XXX

When Archie got home from football practice, Jughead wasn't there. If he was being honest, it didn't worry him too much. Jughead was probably at Betty's, or working on his novel at Pop's - it wouldn't be the first time. Archie would text him in the morning.

XXX

When Jughead woke, it was dark outside. He shivered. The movement sent fire lancing through Jughead's leg and he passed out again.

XXX

The next time Jughead greeted consciousness, it was with slightly more clarity. He looked down at his leg and gagged, the inside of his leg being too much for his stomach. Speaking of his stomach, Jughead was starving. Judging from the light coming through the locker slats, he had spent the night there. He shifted, trying to relieve his cramped muscles, and only succeeded in aggravating his bruised body.  
"Somebody's coming, just you wait. You can't move, you'll make it worse. Just wait, Archie or Betty or somebody'll come find you." Jughead groaned. "One night in and you're talking to yourself. Peachy." He lapsed into silence after that, forced optimism flooding his thoughts. But that can only last so long. Sooner or later, one begins to wonder if anyone is actually coming, or how long he'll be in there, or if anyone even noticed his absence.

Jughead registered the sickly smell coming from his leg at about the same time he realized there was no football game that Saturday.

XXX

On Saturday morning, Archie decided to text Betty to see if she'd seen Jughead. He was probably fine, Archie told himself. You're being silly.

XXX

A few hours later, Jughead's doubtful thoughts were replaced by a more prominent issue: he had to pee. Bad. He tapped his fingers, fidgeted, anything a person could do to distract oneself while trapped in a locker. His movements aggravated his broken leg, which, now that he looked at it, was really red and swollen. Jughead almost gagged from that itself, not to mention the dried blood and visual bone.  
Jughead shook his head. "This is already embarrassing enough. You can't wet yourself, you're not three. Just hold on, someone will be here soon."

XXX

On Saturday afternoon, a raven-haired boy pissed himself in a locker.

XXX

Archie was worried. Betty hadn't seen Jughead since school the day prior - and neither had Veronica, Kevin, Ethel, or even Cheryl. Veronica tried to comfort him. "You know Jughead, he probably needs some space. Look, if he hasn't shown up by tomorrow, we can go around and I'll help you look." Archie nodded, forcing himself to believe her words. That night, he couldn't sleep.

XXX

Neither could Jughead. God, the smell was awful. The locker stank, the smell made worse by the small space and stifling heat. His jeans were itchy, and his leg pulsed with pain. He shivered, chills wracking his small frame. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and his throat was drier than his humor. He'd kill for a burger and milkshake from Pop's. Jughead shivered again.

In some small corner of his mind, he knew he shouldn't be shivering like that in September.

XXX

On Sunday morning, the gang was panicked. No one had seen Jughead since Friday, and although he was known as a loner, he wouldn't go off without at least letting his friends know he was okay. Archie gnawed on his lip as he walked with Veronica. They were going to check the trailer park, in case Jughead went to visit his dad, while Betty and Kevin went to Pop's. It was a start.

XXX

Jughead hadn't slept for two nights. He was itchy and hungry, and oh boy, what he wouldn't do for a drink of water. That was all that occupied his thoughts. That, and the disturbingly extreme switches between too hot and freezing. He was drenched in sweat, and couldn't stop shivering. At this point, his leg was switching between numb and pulsing with all the fiery heat of hell. Jughead's thoughts were scattered, only one remaining consistent.

Someone would come for him. Someone would come for him. Someone would come for him.

Right?

XXX

On Sunday afternoon, a "dork" cried in a locker.

XXXX

Archie, Veronica, Betty, and Kevin searched all day. They went through all of Riverdale, everywhere they could think of. Ethel pitched in too. If it weren't for Fred, they would've searched all night. By the time he convinced them to rest, it was nearing midnight anyway. Archie promised his father he'd get to bed, after just one last look at the school.

XXX

Jughead didn't hear the footsteps through the halls, or the frantic calls of his friend. All he heard was his pulse in his ears, and the sound of things that weren't there. He was shaking, rocking in his confined space. He smelled of urine, sweat, and illness. His hair was matted and his leg, well... Let's just say we could add bile to the list of things Jughead reeked of. He wasn't aware of any of that, though. The locker spun and his vision blurred, but he wasn't concerned about that. In fact, Jughead wasn't thinking about much at all. He only knew one thing; no one was coming for him.

XXX

On Sunday night, a sarcastic teen fell silent and still in a locker.

XXX

When Archie woke Monday morning, he was exhausted and worried. Despite his lack of sleep, the gang had agreed to meet at school early that morning to talk. When they met at the school entrance, a gloomy air permeated the group. Betty, Veronica, and Kevin shared Archie's look of bedraggled stress. They turned in, heading past the lockers when Kevin stopped.

"Do you guys hear that?"

XXX

Back and forth. Back and forth. Jughead's head slammed against the locker. He had long since retired crying out from the pain it caused him. All he knew was back and forth. Back and forth. Back. And. Forth.

XXX

Everyone stopped, freezing to listen. They all heard it - a repeated banging sound, a metallic clang that repeated like clockwork. "It's coming from the lockers," Betty whispered, and with that they were sprinting. It made no sense and perfect sense. No one stopped to consider that they were getting their hopes up. They couldn't, not when greeted by the sight of Jughead's books on the ground, spattered with blood. "Oh my god."  
Betty gasped at the shaking locker from which the sound had come. It smelled, and there was toomuchblood. "We have to get it open." Archie sprinted to the janitor's closet and returned quickly, wielding a bolt cutter (A/N: Don't bother questioning my logic here. I don't get it either). Kevin had to pry Betty from the lock, where she was pulling, scratching, hitting - fruitless yet relentless attempts to get it open. Archie cut the lock with a grunt and the locker swung open.

XXX

On Monday morning, a boy was freed from a locker.

XXX

"JUGHEAD!" Betty's anguished howl was animalistic, as were her efforts to escape Kevin's grasp. She fought to get to her boyfriend, tears streaming down her face. Archie had caught his friend's prone body as it fell from the locker. He was holding Jughead, frantically caught between wanting to help and not wanting to make it worse. Kevin motioned to Veronica.  
"Call 911." Kevin tried to calm Betty, but it was all for naught. Nothing was stopping her from getting to Jughead. She stroked his face, tenderly brushing his hair away.  
"Wake up, god, please wake up. Come on Juggie, WAKE UP," she sobbed, pulling him too her. Archie put a hand on her shoulder.  
“We don’t want to hurt him worse.” Archie fell silent, taking in the sight of his best friend. Jughead was pale and sweaty, shivering even in unconsciousness. His leg was red and swollen and leaking something. Archie gagged, the infected bone turning his stomach. A few feet away, Veronica ended her call.  
“They’ll be here in two minutes,” she said quietly, unable to take her eyes off Jughead. As Betty held her boyfriend, he began to groan, eyes opening slightly.  
“Jughead! You’re okay,” she soothed, knowing she could make no such promise.  
“Betts?” His voice was gravelly and weak, and his eyes shone feverishly. Betty knew he was hardly there. “Wa-er. Wat-“ Jughead dissolved into a coughing fit. Veronica produced a water bottle from her bag, and held it to Jughead’s cracked lips. He drank greedily, and Veronica felt terrible when she had to pull it away. Jughead moaned, a shudder consuming his whole body, and coughed again. Betty grabbed his hand. Neither was willing to let go, even when the paramedics came to take him to the hospital.

XXX

On Monday morning, Jughead was not alone.


End file.
